


Message in a Bottle

by tjs_whatnot



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 19:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8026720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/pseuds/tjs_whatnot
Summary: There are many ways to celebrate after a successful heist. Neal pines for the way it was between he and Alex...





	Message in a Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Run the Con's Lightening PWP round and for the prompt "Whips and chains excite me" which I'm sad to say, didn't work its way into the fic near as much as I had intended to start.
> 
> This was written in a mad rush to finish in time (just under the wire!) so might be riddled with typos, tense changes and whatnot. My apologies and I'll try and clean it up tomorrow. When I wake up.

There was a sizzle under Neal’s skin that's like a teasing itch that he can’t quite reach. He wants to growl against it, scrape his skin off to relieve it. What he needs is Alex. He hates that need almost as much as he hates that she's not there to satisfy it, that's she's never there to satisfy it. He knows now that there's no substitute, there's no relieving this torturous need but her and what they did together, alone, as the celebrated their own brilliance and death-defying escapes.

If he had never met Alex, he would have never known that there was this delicious pay off at the end of every successful con, every victory against mediocrity and _normal _. Part of him wished he’d never learned, the other part of him yearned for that reward each and every time he’d ridden that high of accomplishment. He’d of course had other lovers, other partners in crimes, but none did for him what Alex did. Kate and he were tender and worshipful with each other almost always; Sara and he had sometimes had the power plays that Alex and he reveled in, but with Sara, it never crossed the line, it never neared anywhere close to dangerous, with Alex it was all about pushing boundaries and buttons. Then there was Rebecca. He was so fragile with her; she was supposed to be his opportunity to have something real, something pure. The irony of that caused an ache in his chest if he thinks of it too long.__

__So, he thinks of Alex instead. For as much as he yearns for her and their particular relationship, her memory was one of the only ones that didn’t tear at his heart. For the heart was one of the only body parts that didn't get a thorough workout in their interactions. That, he reasons now, is why he wants it so much, that precise and exquisite release without any of the baggage that the others brought. Not that Alex didn't have baggage, not that they didn't have a cargo plane worth of baggage, but it was different. Easy to forget when they weren't in each other's presence, easier to walk away from without a thought._ _

__Sitting in his luxurious suite in Paris, the biggest con of his life accomplished, the biggest boulder of responsibility and regret lifted off his back and the whole world before him and all he wants is to celebrate and forget with Alex. He knows his needs will expand and mature in the days to come, but right there, all he wants is the immediate and urgent of Alex._ _

__He twirls an origami flower in between his fingers and thinks of how they had begun all those years and lives ago. They had both ran through the door of their rented room in Rotterdam gasping, sirens echoing along the cobbled stones of the roads outside the flat. It took a moment for either to catch their breath enough to say anything, but they shared a victorious smile and that's all it took. An instant later, they were in each other's arms, kissing ruthlessly, tearing at each other's cat-burglary-black, form-fitting clothes. There was a dizzying swirl of dance to the bed—the only piece of furniture in the room—each trying to lead._ _

__Neal likes to think that he let her win, but even now, he's not so sure._ _

__She pushed him roughly to the bed, his shirt and trousers in a jumbled trail with hers. Her smile was slow and almost sinister, her eyes burned with wickedness. He bit his lip and waited for her move. She pounced, her knees on each side of his hips, her hands at the side of his, leaning into him, her hair in his face. Reaching up, he took her hair in his fist and twisted it with one hand at the base of her neck. With his other hand he reached behind her back and worked the hooks of her black silk bra. She growled into his mouth as she snaked her tongue in._ _

__Releasing her hair, he gripped her hips tightly before hitching her knees up and flipping her onto her back. She didn't stay there though; she wrapped her hands around him and rolled them both over, right off the bed. Now he was on top again and he dragged her hands over her head and held them there, straddling her hips, pushing against her attempts to roll again. He bent down and ran his nose along hers, she arched into him, trying to capture his lips, but he bowed his head into her neck, gently kissing along her throat and shoulders. She squirmed under him. He pulled her bra off with his teeth and she moaned. He ran his nose and mouth around one of her nipples and then the other, breathing hot against the sensitive skin. She cursed under her breath._ _

__He began to lay feather-light kisses at the skin between her breasts, working from one nipple to the other, licking the puckered areola. So distracted by what he was doing, he hadn't realized that he had loosened his grip on her wrists still over her head. She pulled them free and pushed at his chest. Stunned by the sudden and involuntary space between them, he was even more shocked when she slapped him hard across the cheekbone._ _

__His mind raced as the pain spread across his face. He was speechless and even more shockingly, aroused._ _

__"I'm not one of your fucking porcelain dolls, Caffrey."_ _

__His face burned, but it was nothing to the heat he felt spread throughout him from the epicenter of his groin. He didn't reply to her taunt, but he knew she understood what she had done, had read it on his face, in his eyes that burned with lust and ravenous need. His smile was slow and she swallowed as if nervous to his intentions, but urging him along with her hands, cupping his ass and squeezing hard. Really, really hard._ _

__He bowed his head again at her breasts, flicking his tongue against the nipple; he grazed his teeth to the merest taste of its tip and bit down. Crying out in pain, in ecstasy, she dug her fingernails into the meat of his ass. Again he was shocked and unbelievably aroused by the pain of it. And again she used his surprise to her advantage, and, wrapping her legs around his hips, rolled them so that she was _again_ , on top. _ _

__She wasted no more time, allowed no advantage to be wasted and rose up and expertly, as if his prick was an electric current and her cunt a magnetic field, she sunk down deep and hard. She rotated her hips, and he cried out at the sensation of her clinching against him. She pulled herself up, sliding almost out, but he clutched her hips and pumped his hips forward, diving back in, impaling her as she slammed back down. He watched as she rose and fell harder and deeper each time, her tits bouncing in rhythm, her head thrown back, panting and moaning. It was too much and not enough and he wanted to see her fall apart, he wanted to _make_ her fall apart._ _

__He rose up and wrapped his arms tightly around her, his hands pushing down on her shoulders, impaling her fully and not letting her rise up. Instead, he took one hand and placed it on her hip, guide her to sway and twirl around his length buried deep inside her. With his other hand, he snaked his fingers between them, passed her labia, rubbing against her swollen arousal. She bucked and ground against him uncontrollable, cursing loudly and in Italian, and he felt his orgasm begin as he squeezed and tugged at her clit. At the exact moment that he came, she bit down hard on his ear and held him tight as she rode her own orgasm. He didn't even feel the pain until the next day when he saw the deep teeth marks in his lobe._ _

__And in the years that followed, in the trysts that followed from time to time, never planned, never expected, they would continue to have this battle. Who would lead, who would set the pace, who chose the game they played and who decided when it was over and it was time to get down to the business of fucking._ _

__They both might have liked the idea of foreplay, of teasing and taunting, of tasting and titillating, but their need of each other, their race for release and euphoria overrode all else. With other people, they both might have taken hours to explore their lovers' bodies, to taste their every pore, flick and suck on her clit, lick and suck his cock, milking him until he comes in spurts down her throat, but between them, no matter how much game playing they had planned, it never got there. They didn't have time for whips and chains, for games and storytelling. Their hunger for each other, their need of each other wouldn't allow it._ _

__And now, his life ready to begin yet again and her out there somewhere, and his need for her is so great that he can't sleep, he can't eat. He just sits in his room and fantasies as he make more and more paper flowers that he plans the next day to release into the Seine. Maybe they will carry his wish to her wherever she might be. Like a message in a bottle._ _


End file.
